


Valencia 2017 Snippets

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-01 20:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12712587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: Drabbles about the last day of the season.1. Jorge/Dovi2. Valentino/Marc3. Alex Marquez/Luca Marini4. Dani/Maverick





	1. Jorge/Dovi

“I’m sorry.”

Andrea doesn’t have to open the door for him, but the spare key he’s been given feels heavy in his clammy hand. Jorge goes inside the familiar motorhome, the one he knows almost as well as his own, but this time hesitantly. Some of the decor details are chosen by him, some of the items spread all over it belonging to him. But today he feels like an intruder here. Almost like an unwanted presence, someone who doesn’t deserve to stand within those walls. 

They shared a handshake in the box, something Andrea couldn’t deny him in the presence of so many cameras pointed at their faces, at their every move. Now, in private, Andrea doesn’t have to put on the media mask, to pretend and hide his true feelings from the world. And they’re what Jorge fears the most. 

He stands in the middle of the room, not sure if he’s more feeling lost or looking lost. 

Andrea looks up from the book laying on his lap, the pages slightly bent at the corners. “No need to be sorry. I fell on my own.” He has the audacity to laugh. Jorge cannot hide the grimace overtaking his own features rapidly. “Now, if you made me crash on purpose, then I’d be angry.” 

The words are supposed to be joking, reassuring. They aren’t, not to his ears, even if that’s what Andrea intended them to be.

“I prevented you from fighting for that title. From trying,” Jorge says, the guilt gnawing at his stomach, twisting and turning the guts. And he had reasons, unknown to anyone. But he doubts those who accuse him of being selfish, a bastard, a fucker (oh, how he hates that word) would get them either way. There’s no pleasing everyone, he’s learnt it isn’t possible long ago. 

There’s a sound of a book closing, falling to the ground. “Not really. It was a lost battle from the beginning.” Andrea smiles, but when Jorge gets a closer look at him, his eyes are glimmering and the wetness in the corners is dangerously close to spilling. 

In one quick stride Jorge’s in front of him, falling to the knees and catching Andrea’s hands in his palms. They’re unusually cold in this warm weather and when Jorge slides finger over his knuckles, the shakiness is unmistakable. 

“You know why I did it, right?” Jorge asks, unable to hide the tremble sneaking into the end of the sentence. “Back in 2015 there were so many people who thought I and Marc were lovers. And I know that you really don’t want the public to know about us, not yet.” He lets the silence fall over them for a few seconds, searching for contact, looking in Andrea’s eyes, hoping to find understanding. 

He gets Andrea’s reasons, why being out is not a good option. Not right now, at least. How Andrea has to take Sara into consideration and how there's much more at stakes for him. And Jorge knew what he was getting himself into and, if faced with the choice of getting into the relationship once again, now with all the knowledge he didn’t have before, his decision would’ve been the same. 

There’s a weak squeeze Jorge feels against his hand. “Yeah. Now wouldn’t be a good time.”

“So I thought that if I let you pass, all those rumours would break out again.” He brushes a hand through Andrea’s hair, lets it linger at the nape of his neck for a little longer. “I just want you happy and safe from that. You don’t need the stress that comes with having to deal with that.”

Andrea nods and leans in, brushing his lips against Jorge’s lightly. The touch is gentle, lacking passion, but filled with warmth and understanding, wordless affirmation and carrying a message that there’s no bad blood between. That today won’t change a thing. Jorge reciprocates it, not changing the pace, letting things be slow for once. He gives Andrea a peck, pushing against the soft lips delicately and hums lowly when they fall open, letting him in. His arms wrap around Andrea's slim form tightly, holding him and trying to transfers all those feelings he sometimes isn't good at speaking about.

After breaking free, Jorge laces their fingers, intertwining them tightly.“Once again, I’m sorry. And I’m really proud of you, you know?” He caresses Andrea’s cheek with a thumb, wiping one tear away. “Because Ducati counted on me, but it’s you who turned out to be the real star.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this seems like a plausible explanation? But I was thinking about what happened and this idea appeared.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	2. Valentino/Marc

“I can’t even win the title without some sort of a controversy,” Marc groans, climbing onto Valentino’s lap. The suit he’s still wearing is getting crumpled, more and more wrinkles forming on the fabric, folds created under his knees and on the thighs. He stretches, shirt rising, and then falls on Valentino’s chest with full weight, burying head between his head and shoulder. “I just wanted to celebrate with Alex and now half of the Internet is saying I’m gay.”

“They’re not wrong.” Valentino isn’t fazed by the glare he receives in the littlest bit, his smirk growing wider. “Though, I’m surprised they’re freaking out about that and not the fact that it was your own brother you kissed.”

He slips hands under Marc’s shirt, caressing the skin on his back with fingertips. Dragging them down the line of Marc’s spine slowly, before tracing a path upwards, to the hairline. The shivers going through Marc’s body widen his grin even further. 

Marc shifts a bit, turning his head. His breath tickles Valentino’s neck and the goosebumps appear immediately, decorating the skin. “You know it wasn’t a real kiss,” he says, bewildered by how people can twist and turn things into something they’re not. It’s ridiculous. And kind of scary, how wild the imagination of some can run. He probably won’t ever get used to that. 

“I know. And it’s pretty sad, honestly.” Valentino fakes the sadness, the corners of his lips falling, but he isn’t trying at all and the result is rather comical. “If you kissed him and then I kissed you, it would be almost like I kissed Alex, too. Kissing both Marquez brothers, that would be something.”

Marc hits his own forehead with an open palm. “Sometimes I wish I could shut you up,” he says, but the laugh breaks out either way and the giggles are shaking his whole body in no time. Valentino can feel the vibrations on his own chest, delighted at the sensation and unable to prevent a chuckle from escaping. 

“I know a good way to shut me up.”

He waggles eyebrows and flutters eyelashes exasperatedly. His lips are puckered and Marc wants to both smack him on the head and kiss him senseless. Simultaneously. “Seriously, I’d hate you, if I didn’t love you so much.” 

Valentino’s expression softens, the grin morphing into a smile and his eyelids closing halfway. “Same, probably,” he answers, laughter erupting, but he knows well enough the hating part wouldn’t be true. He couldn’t hate him. Not Marc. 

Marc wraps arms his neck and presses their lips together, biting lightly and then swiping his tongue over that spot. Valentino lets him do whatever he wants, surrendering. He’s melting into it, pulling Marc closer so that their bodies are pressed tightly together and giving the control over. This is the type of fight he’s glad to lose. 

When they break from each other for a moment, no more than a minute, they stare at each other, admiring messy hair and flushed cheeks. Rapid breaths and shining eyes. 

“But how about this,” Valentino whispers, their lips millimetres apart. “The next time you win the championship, you’ll kiss me, instead,” he suggests, half joking, half serious, ready to laugh it off, if Marc dislikes the idea, but secretly hoping he won’t. The nervousness slips into his mind either way and somehow, the time must’ve slowed down, the seconds passing by sluggishly.

Marc scratches at his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. He’s a terrible actor, the serious expression he’s tried to pull off failing immediately as he’s back to that smile Valentino’s sure could light up whole towns and cities. “We have a deal.” He shakes Valentino’s hand, not missing the occasion to lace their fingers together, and seals the deal with a kiss. 

And he’s already thinking of a hashtag for 2018. #Lucky7 sounds pretty nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosquez again. I'm sorry? But it seems like I can't stop, won't stop haha.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	3. Alex Marquez/Luca Marini

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

Alex steps inside shyly, but he’s unable to cover the smile playing at his lips. His legs are a bit wobbly, a result of alcohol circulating in his blood, without a doubt, and his cheeks are flushed in the most beautiful way. For a second, he has to place a hand on the wall to keep the balance and when he grins in embarrassment, rubbing at the back of his neck, Luca feels like he might burst from all that cuteness. 

“It’s nothing. I get that you wanted to celebrate with Marc,” he says warmly, letting himself be enveloped by Alex’s arms. They sway lightly from side to side, neither sure if it’s intentional or not, but a pleasant thing nonetheless. “I’m only sad I was too young to celebrate the titles with Vale properly.” 

“Maybe you’ll get to celebrate your own title with him next year,” Alex responds and he sounds so convinced, as if he actually thought it to be possible. “Changing the team will help. You’ll see.”

_I sure hope so._

The undeterred belief Alex has in him has Luca’s heart picking up rhythm, muscles in the face lifting the corners of his lips. “I’ll have to fight you for that title first,” he jokes. 

They both fall to the sofa when he pulls Alex with him, the lean body he has on his lap melting under Luca’s touch, little brushes of his fingers against cheeks, arms, the nape of the neck. He receives little shivers and quiet humming in response, along with a kiss pressed just below his right ear. 

“Promise me one thing?” Alex asks suddenly. The teeth he presses into his lips betray his emotions as much as the coldness of his hands does. 

Slightly confused by the change of mood, Luca wonders, if it’s Alex speaking or the alcohol he consumed.“What?”

Alex moves, putting a bit more distance between their bodies. Luca watches, his surprise growing, as Alex’s eyes clear when he sobers up and now it’s not the tipsiness, but full understanding he sees. The ‘#BIG6’ shirt Alex’s still wearing is getting more wrinkles and he closes a palm over the material tightly, crinkling the white cotton. 

“That the fight won’t ruin this–” He points at Luca, then at himself. “That it won’t destroy what we have.”

_That we won’t become what Marc and Vale became at one point,_ Luca hears. 

And he knows he’ll never make those same mistakes.

He laces a finger with Alex’s, cupping his face with the other hand. Slowly, he leans in and leaves a peck on Alex’s lips, smiling warmly. Loves how Alex seeks him with his own mouth immediately, not wanting the contact between them to end.“Pinky promise.” His tone might be joking, but he means it with his whole heart. 

Alex laughs, but Luca knows well that it’s not only amusement audible in the sound, that there’s also relief hidden inbetween. And if there’s one thing he’s learnt in his life, it’s that, no matter how much he loves it, there’s more to life than racing. And that Alex is his more, the one he refuses to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time for the little brothers!
> 
> Like always, thank you for taking your time to read the stories <3


	4. Chapter 4

“It doesn’t bother you?”

The sky is already changing colours, light blue slowly being replaced by darker hues. It’s rare, getting moments like this, a few minutes of calm and quiet they have for themselves during a race weekend, the rest of the paddock too busy celebrating the newly crowned champion. 

Dani shifts weight from left foot to the right. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off fully and the tiredness hasn’t hit him in the full force yet, the pleasant warmth still spreading through his veins. “What should bother me?”

The frown pulls Maverick’s face into an ugly grimace. _I hate this expression on you, you know?_ Dani thinks. _I wish I could prevent it, somehow._

“Always getting overshadowed. Being overlooked. Everyone talking about Marc and Dovi, even though you won the race.” When it gets to him, what he said, to Dani, _his_ Dani, Maverick catches the older man’s hands in his immediately, brushes a thumb over the slightly rough knuckles. The skin there bears the marks of multiple falls and the gloves scratching over it, leaving little, pale scars. “I shouldn’t have. Sorry.” 

It, this, reminds Dani of how young he actually is. How little time he’s spent here, within the world where, in the end, only the one with the most points added to his name matters when the season is over. 

“No. But it bothers you, doesn’t it?” Dani glances at one of the posters showing the current world champion and the vice, _The Final Showdown_ staring at him from everywhere. Maverick doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to; the scowl showing on his face tells Dani everything he wants to know. “People always care about the champions. The others fade into the background. That’s normal.”

The snarl is not unexpected. 

Maverick kicks one of the little rocks and grimaces when it hits the Ducati truck. “So, you’re saying I should get used to it?”

There’s incredulity mixing with indignation in his voice, anger and maybe a bit of helplessness. That the championship isn’t exactly how he imagined it when he was a young boy with wide eyes and undeterred faith of becoming the best in the world one day. Of being loved and admired, like he loved and admired those he now shares the track with. 

Dani knows what the slap from the reality feels like. Been there, done that. Nothing new. But, at the same time, he is aware of how painful realizing it for the first time is. 

“Not really.” He moves closer, their arms now touching, warmth radiating through the thin materials of their shirts. “You won’t have to get used to it. Soon, they’ll be talking about you.” 

Maverick pulls the cap lower, covering more of his face. Dani notices how the shadows under his eyes became more prominent and his cheeks appear more hollow than they did not so long ago, when he was the one standing on the highest step of the podium. _I need to take care of you because you won’t do it yourself, will you?_

The question comes quiet. Maverick’s voice barely breaks the silence, the distant noise of celebrations still going on almost drowning it. “And if not?” _If I won’t became the champion?_

“You can always take Jorge’s route and wear something horrible. To the Gala, for example.” Dani chuckles, the image of Maverick in Jorge’s type of clothes too amusing. “People would talk about you, with a doubt.” 

This finally gets him a slight smile, Maverick’s worried expression easing up a bit. “I might think about it.”

Dani smiles back, his mind now a bit calmer. He steps on the tips of his toes and presses a kiss to Maverick’s lips. Too short for his liking, but the thought of someone coming from around the corner, of finding out about them, is there, at the back of his mind. “Now, go change and see you later in my motorhome. You can’t be late to the Gala.”

Maverick nods, the cap sliding a bit on his head, stealing one last peck from Dani before he disappears in the labyrinth of trucks and motorhomes. 

*

The medal clinks when Maverick takes it off and puts it on the glass coffee table. His jacket hangs forgotten on one of the chairs, no doubt thoroughly wrinkled by now, and Dani glances at him from head to toes, clearly amused. 

“You know, I was joking about you wearing something horrible to the Gala,” he laughs, staring at the holes in Maverick’s ripped jeans. They hug his slim legs nicely, Dani admits, and his butt looks pretty great, too, but it’s still not exactly what the dress code requires. 

“I can take them off, if you don’t like them.” Maverick smirks, opening the button of his pants. It’s so dirty, so lecherous; Dani would’ve laughed, if he didn’t have the sudden urge to take the (excessive) clothes he himself was wearing off. “Next year, when I’m the champion, I’ll wear something nicer. Or maybe nothing, people will only talk about me.” 

“What’s behind those-,” Dani murmurs, pulling on the fly and sliding the jeans down Maverick’s hips, “is only for me to see. Next year, when you’re the champion, I’ll be choosing your clothes. A champion needs to look the part.” He grins when Maverick’s jeans fall to the floor and his lips fall open, absolutely loving how his name coming from them sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about this one? I was going with it somewhere and then got lost haha. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
